


Arabesque

by tinx_r



Category: These Old Shades - Georgette Heyer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinx_r/pseuds/tinx_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving Satanas has never been easy -- but a youthful, beautiful page living within Avon's own house was something even Davenant never foresaw...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arabesque

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oliviacirce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/gifts).



It behove Davenant to style himself Léon's protector. He could hardly else; if any knew Satanas and the depths of his wickedness, it were he. Known far and wide as Avon's friend -- oft-said Avon's only friend -- domiciled in Avon's hôtel, to be found, night after night, at Avon's side.

Even though Davenant watched the advent of Léon with dismay. He tried a facade of amused disregard, which slipped each time he laid eyes on the pert, titian-haired page. His acquaintance looked at him askance, unused to this new curt Davenant.

A contretemps over a dice-box, or perhaps the quality of the claret -- looking back, Davenant could never remember which -- and there were hot words on his tongue, the kind which could not be unsaid. But there came His Grace, honeyed words and a silver tongue, and of course, the sheer presence of the man.

Avon was not tall (whence his fondness for the high heels so fashionable at present), but he need not be. Falling back, watching the small scene play out before his dazed eyes, Davenant watched as he had a thousand times as Alastair owned the room, drew each player into a part of his own making. Within moments the thing was turned off as a joke, M. Davenant's odd behavior unremarked, forgotten.

"This party wearies me," said Avon in a reflective tone, appearing at Davenant's elbow. "Come, Hugh, as you love me, bear me company!"

Davenant found himself outside in the cool Parisian night, Avon's hand on his elbow. Avon's page coming two steps behind in their wake, eyes downcast.

Davenant stopped dead, staring at Avon as fury and confusion churned in his breast. _As I love you. God help me._ The irony struck him, that he would seek God's help in loving Satanas, and he threw his head back and laughed.

"Come, Davenant," Avon said grimly. "Strive to contain your desire to make a fool of yourself until we cross my threshold."

"I, make a fool of myself?" Davenant allowed Avon to propel him down the street. "Justin, it is far too late for that!"

*

In the hall, Walker and the page were dismissed with an imperious handwave. "Léon, leave us!"

"But, Monseigneur -- !"

"You heard me." It was as cold a command as Davenant had yet heard directed at the boy. He could not help a pang of sympathy as Léon slunk away -- how often had he felt thus, even if he were older, wiser. Even if he dared not wear his heart upon his sleeve, as did the pretty youth.

He felt Avon's eyes on him, and without waiting for an invitation turned and went into the library.

Burgundy stood upon the sideboard, laid out against their return, and Davenant filled a glass, willing his hand not to shake.

"Your performance tonight was most edifying," Avon said silkily, closing the door behind him.

"Oh?" Davenant turned, staring into the face of his lover. His tormentor. As always, Justin Alastair stared back, haughty and mocking, cool and unreadable. Aloof, untouchable.

 _Mine_ , Davenant thought, as though the word alone could make it true. Turbulent emotions tore at his reason -- want, need, longing. Anger, jealousy -- and terror. This flame-haired child had Avon captivated, wove some spell that Davenant, staid Englishman, could not hope to duplicate. "I trust then that you are edified, Justin."

"Beyond a shadow of doubt." Alastair's lips twitched.

"Ay, you find this amusing, I make no doubt." The expensive wine soured in Davenant's mouth. He thought for a moment of flinging the glass in the fireplace, marching out in a grand exit; then caught himself. The satisfaction of a moment for a lifetime of regret was more in Avon's line than his.

"My dear Hugh, you never fail to amuse me." Avon crossed the library and removed the burgundy glass from Davenant's fingers. "Yes, I observed that impulse, and I prefer burgundy taken internally, rather than flung at my head."

Davenant had the grace to blush.

"Listen, fool. I have seen what you think, and within a short time, unless you curb this flight of fancy, so too will Paris. I do not have to tell you that the consequences of that would be -- undesirable. To say the least."

The color drained from Davenant's face. "I would not speak of such a thing!"

"You do not need to, my dear." Alastair smiled, albeit bitterly. "Your black looks are pointed enough. There are whispers -- you know there are whispers! Wherefore came we to Paris? The story of the gaming tables of Vienna, so much fabrication, as well you know it."

"And if you care what the world says, what the world thinks, then it will be a first!" Davenant exclaimed. "What is one more sin to Satanas?"

"Little enough." Avon's lips tilted into a crooked smile. "I care -- for Davenant." Without another word, he strode past Davenant, went to the sideboard, filled a glass of the ruby wine and quaffed half without drawing breath.

Davenant stood staring, senses reeling. It was a greater admission than he had ever heard or expected.

"What? You thought I did not?" Avon sipped at his wine. "I hide my heart better than I know, it seems."

"Your heart! Time and again, I thought you had none."

Avon gave a dry chuckle. "You may be right, my dear. I lost it long since, after all."

Davenant achieved a sneer. "I don't doubt it. Now Avon, I will have plain speaking! What want you with this -- this catamite?"

Justin Alastair put up his brows. "Tut, Hugh! You are severe!"

"Do you blame me?"

"Were I intent on Léon's virtue, I expect I would not. But I must ask you -- again -- to believe I am not."

"Then give him to me! These machinations of yours -- you care not whom you hurt!"

"But that is where you're wrong." Avon placed his glass on the sideboard and came to Davenant's side. "I will not give you Léon, as that way lies ruin for us all. No harm will come to the child at my hand. And, if you will but trust me, no hurt will befall you either."

Davenant stared into the mesmerizing gaze, and swallowed hard. Alastair was lying, else how the burn like fire in his chest, searing his soul? Loving Alastair was a pain like no other, possessing Davenant so completely that without it, he doubted his heart would keep beating.

Then, quick as thought, Avon leaned in and captured his mouth. The kiss was hard, rough even; greedy and filled with promise, but more, it claimed ownership. Davenant closed his eyes and surrendered.

*

Late it was when Davenant retired to bed, heart still in turmoil. No spoken promises were between them, but Davenant lay awake, waiting.

Valets dismissed, the servants abed and at last the great house was truly silent. And in the silence came a shadow, moving as a ghost through the night. One moment Davenant was alone in the room, the next, the mattress dipped beneath the weight of a body.

Davenant held his breath. He was used to Justin's ability to appear seemingly from nowhere -- not just within his own house under cover of darkness, but at rout parties, in gaming hells, wherever Davenant went -- but it never failed to send a frisson of nervous excitement up his spine.

"Satanas," he muttered, by way of greeting.

"Angelus." Amused, mocking yet tender. Then the mattress dipped and Justin Alastair was present indeed, reassuringly corporeal.

Davenant reached for him gladly. Mortal sin or not, it was the breath of life, and he would not go unsuccoured.

At the last, when Davenant lay wrung out on Avon's chest, Avon bent his head close to Davenant's ear. "You are no light o'love, my own dear Hugh. You are the light to my darkness and without you -- ah, without you my machinations, as you call them, would be terrible indeed."

Davenant yawned and rubbed his head on Alastair's shoulder. "Tell me at least what you want with little Léon. I would be honored to -- er -- illuminate proceedings."

Avon chuckled. "That I shall not. Yet. Léon's hair provides all the illumination I need."

"You will make a mystery." There was no arguing with Avon when he became profound, Davenant knew it of old -- but for the nonce, he felt so content he was prepared to let it ride.

"No, Hugh. You make the mystery. I have it on good authority that I merely machinate."

Hugh Davenant would wake alone. Sometime in the dark, Avon would leave him, as silent as he had come. But for now Davenant settled more comfortably into Justin Alastair's arms. "Even in your dreams, my heart."

There came a long silence, and then Avon spoke again, so soft that Davenant could never be sure he had not dreamed it. "Not when I lie with you."


End file.
